


Mirror Image

by blue_is_samazing



Series: Venty Stuff [1]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Eating Disorders, Self-Harm, Suicide, Transgender, Vent Piece, here ya go, i saw this and am Big Sad sooooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_is_samazing/pseuds/blue_is_samazing
Summary: Mirrors are alive and self-aware but we don’t know. Our mirrors think everything we say to ourself in the mirrors, we actually say to them. [Write] how your mirror feels about themself.





	Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> This isnt exactly the prompt because it was a drawing prompt but oh well

I never understood what changed.

He used to smile at me. He used to sing and play pretend, and he would laugh when he messed up his hair.

I never understood what changed.

He stopped smiling as much. He would fix his hair and make a face like he had smelled something foul, and then he was gone.

I never understood what changed.

Slowly, slowly, he changed. He grew taller, wider, paler. He wrapped bandages around his chest, and he started getting scratches on his arms. From my spot in his room, I could see him making them at night with the back of an earring or an unfolded paperclip.

I never understood what changed.

He started talking to me again, and looking at me more, but it wasn't the same as before. He would pinch and poke at the skin on his face, and he would open up his arms with pencil sharpeners. His words were violent and cruel and biting, and he would scream for hours about how much he hated him and me.

I never understood what changed.

After a while, he stopped screaming. He only stared at me with a blank look. He was getting thinner, more tired. He stopped brushing his teeth, or his hair. He stopped wearing anything but pajamas, stopped taking proper showers and only stood in the scalding stream until he couldn't take it anymore. He looked like a dying man who had given up.

I never understood what changed.

He stuck to me a note, written to his dad. I didn't read it, I couldn't even touch it. I watched, horrified, as he filled up the bathtub. Nobody had done that in years. He wore his pajamas in the water, and I caught a glimpse of one of the stolen razors. I couldn't believe it, I refused to, but that didn't make it any less true when he screamed, the silver digging into his arm and red bubbling out. The water turned pink, and he slumped back and closed his eyes. Slowly, the water turned red, and he turned white.

I never understood what changed.

It was hours before his father found him. It was too late. The water was cold, and he was ice, and his father was in disbelief, a shocked horror and unsettled sorrow that I could see in his eyes as he cradled his son's cold body close and sloshed bloody water onto him and the floor. 

I never understood. 

We used to be best friends. We used to love each other. We used to sing together and play together, we used to be so close. 

What changed?


End file.
